


Wait

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Post CA: TWS, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Bucky flops onto the couch and pushes his hair off his forehead.  It’s a move he’s always done, even when he had much less hair.  It makes him seem young and fidgety, just like Steve.It feels like a date, Steve realizes.  Charmingly awkward, like the moment when walking him home turns into coming inside for a drink, which will then turn to something else, but it hasn’t quite yet.  It’s been a long time since they’ve faced the situation.  Steve didn’t know it was possible to miss it.Nothing but adult feelings, he thinks, making himself smile.  He’s glad it’s dark; he’s sure he’s blushing, too.“What?”  Bucky cocks his head and smiles back, obviously wondering what he’s missing.“Nothing,” Steve says, shaking his head quickly.  He’s not going to repeat it.  he certainly doesn’t want to explain it.  “I just missed you.”





	Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxx_cat_xxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/gifts).



> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

Steve tries not to act like an anxious father on his child’s first day of kindergarten.  Bucky’s nothing like a child.  He’s perfectly adult, and Steve has nothing but adult feelings for him.  He mulls over just how horrendous that sounds as he lowers the blinds on the kitchen window.  The nondescript black SHIELD van will drop him off when the mission is over.  Which could be at any time.  Maybe in five minutes.  Maybe not until tomorrow.  

It’s just the fact that it’s two in the afternoon that makes him feel like he should have on a frilly apron as he waits for the school bus.  It’s not like he was baking cookies for Bucky’s afternoon snack.  But he has cookies.  Store bought, in the cupboard.  So he’s prepared if Bucky wants them.

Steve distracts himself with a series of talk shows, chuckling at the opening monologues, then losing focus during the interviews with celebrities he’s never heard of.  What country is that person from?  What country had they sent Bucky to, again?  If he leans back in his seat, he can see through the gap in the blinds.  No van yet.  

Steve’s not worried.  He has no reason to be.  Fury put Bucky through the paces of psychological testing, working him locally for months before he called him for a solo mission overseas.  Steve’s more surprised that he wasn’t called to be Bucky’s partner in the field.  He’s his partner in everything else, so it only would’ve made sense.  And if he were with him, there’d be no risk of Bucky getting mixed up and wandering off instead of coming inside, the busy chauffeur none the wiser.  

But it’s fine, Steve reminds himself as he pours milk over Chips Ahoy as if it’s cereal and takes the bowl into the living room to eat in front of the evening news.  Bucky’s doesn’t do that anymore.  They don’t use words like “better” or “recovered,” but he’s doing well.  He is well.

Steve keeps his ears peeled for words like “assassination” or “terrorism.”  Maybe something in the middle east.  Or Russia.  He tries to calculate distances against the speed of SHIELD jets.  Would that put Bucky home before midnight?

Steve starts yawning at 10:30, flipping through channels for something other than late-night comedy about memes he can’t begin to understand.  He finds an old episode of The Brady Bunch, though it’s all new to him.  He feels for the mother and father, worried about Marcia and what’s-his-name missing curfew.  Steve wonders if he ever put his parents through the wringer like that.  Then he thinks of Bucky again, shakes his head, and lets himself fall asleep.

The sound of the garage door opening startles Steve out of his daze.  He blinks in confusion at the infomertial on the television, then jumps to his feet in panic before the realization hits that thieves would pry the lock off the front door.  They wouldn’t have the remote for the garage.  At least, he doesn’t think they would.  There could be some process for electronic cloning that he’s not privy to.  Nat’s better with tech like that.  So is Bucky.

 _Bucky,_  he thinks, just as heavy footfalls approach from the hallway.  Steve turns, almost upending his bowl and spoon on the side table.  He hastily steadies the dishes and closes the space between them.  He throws his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, breathing in the scent of him, leathery and warm, with hints of sweat and gasoline betraying all that’s gone on in the 20 hours or so he’s been gone.  

“You’re home,” Steve murmurs, kissing his stubbly cheek.

“Mm-hm,” Bucky replies.  He drops his chin onto Steve’s shoulder, but stays tense.  

Perhaps Steve’s just loose and sleepy by comparison.  It doesn’t mean something’s wrong.  But his instinct is concern, so he pulls back and asks, “You ok?”

“Hm?  Yeah.”  Bucky blinks a couple times, like he’s trying to force Steve’s face into focus.  There’s a grease smudge on his nose, or maybe charcoal.  Gunpowder?  Steve rubs it off with his thumb, trying not to laugh as Bucky’s eyes cross.  

“You sure?” Steve presses.

“Yeah.”  

“Hungry?”

Bucky shakes his head.  “Tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.”  Steve stifles a yawn.  “I was watching…” He waves dismissively at the TV.  “Not that.  Something else.”  He gets caught up in the colorful glow reflecting in Bucky’s eyes.  “Bed, d’you think?”

Bucky shrugs.  “Can I watch?  With you?”

“Yeah, of course.”  Steve moves his dishes from the side table to the coffee table for no reason.  He wants to keep his hands busy, but he’s not sure why.  

Bucky flops onto the couch and pushes his hair off his forehead.  It’s a move he’s always done, even when he had much less hair.  It makes him seem young and fidgety, just like Steve.  

It feels like a date, Steve realizes.  Charmingly awkward, like the moment when walking him home turns into coming inside for a drink, which will then turn to something else, but it hasn’t quite yet.  It’s been a long time since they’ve faced the situation.  Steve didn’t know it was possible to miss it.  

Nothing but adult feelings, he thinks, making himself smile.  He’s glad it’s dark; he’s sure he’s blushing, too.

“What?”  Bucky cocks his head and smiles back, obviously wondering what he’s missing.

“Nothing,” Steve says, shaking his head quickly.  He’s not going to repeat it.  he certainly doesn’t want to explain it.  “I just missed you.”

“Yeah.  So did I.”  Bucky sort of laughs and sort of sighs, slumping a couple inches to the side so his arm is pressed against Steve’s.  “I mean, I missed you, too.”

Steve only has to turn his chin 90 degrees to kiss him.  He doesn’t have to move any more, but he does on instinct, pulling his feet onto the sofa cushion and reaching for Bucky’s cheek with one hand, his chin with the other.  He even tastes good, earthy and faintly spicy.  

One twitch of his shoulders and Bucky’s moving too, breathing into Steve’s mouth and lying back, his hand on the back of Steve’s neck.  He shifts sideways so he’s reclining with his head pillowed on the arm of the sofa.  

“Mm…”  Steve lets him get comfortable, dipping down to kiss Bucky’s neck before hovering over him to grin and ask what he wants.  

But Bucky’s eyes are closed, his lips gently parted, and his breaths coming in slow, even waves.  

Steve exhales.  He’s not disappointed.  Just amused.  He bends his elbows, lowering his body just enough so his lips graze Bucky’s forehead, then he silently slips off of him.  He takes the blanket from the back of the couch and tucks it around Bucky’s hips, then lovingly tousels his hair and turns off the TV.


End file.
